


Foreplay

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [19]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, Food Porn, PWP, Phrack Fucking Friday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 03, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack are winding their way home from London, and they’ve made a stop in Morocco. Dinner at a small local restaurant proves to be more than just memorable.





	Foreplay

Jack Robinson glanced down to the woman whose palm wrapped warmly around his bicep in the soft heat of the Marrakech night. She moved smoothly with him as they strolled, and he smiled, a rush of love sweeping through him. They’d spent the day strolling through the market, feasting their eyes on the beautiful wares of the local artisans and sampling the food from the many vendors. He’d been impressed over and over again by the way that she was able to make her way in every culture. She’d shopped, certainly, but she’d also drawn the vendors out with her innate charm. 

Phryne wore pale khaki today, her calf-length skirt falling smoothly over her tall boots and her white blouse sprigged with tiny green-and-cream flowers; his own cream linen trousers and jacket were a subtle harmony to her appearance, and he considered that a fitting metaphor for the two of them. Not for the first time, he counted himself lucky to be the man on her arm—she was a flame that drew people in, and she’d chosen him to be the one she pulled closest. He didn’t discount his own worth, but she was incomparable. There hadn’t been a moment since he’d met her that he didn’t want her, and he would take what she could give him for as long as he could.

At the moment, though, along with that ever-present hunger for Phryne, he was also hungry for food. Their rented bungalow was close, as was the restaurant in the hotel next door, where the Moroccan-flavored English cuisine had charmed them the night before. Neither he nor Phryne had eaten much during the day, and they’d agreed to head straight in. The hotel entrance was in sight, just a few hundred feet ahead, but before they reached it, they passed the open doorway of a tiny restaurant that smelled of heaven, and the scent stopped them both in their tracks.

Breathing deeply, their eyes met; their smiles grew as each read the other’s intention. Giving in to impulse, they ducked through the doorway. The dining room was not large, perhaps seven or eight round tables set close to the floor. There were no chairs in evidence, only fat cushions where other diners sat cross-legged. Colorful cloth draped the ceiling, and the only light came from enclosed candle lanterns set along the walls. The scents of spices and tea were stronger now that they were inside; the sound of low conversation hummed alongside the occasional clink of plates and bursts of laughter.

The proprietor, a small man who looked to be in his sixties, was surprised to see them, but he seemed hospitable, seating them promptly at a table that sat in a dim corner. Folding their legs beneath them, Phryne and Jack settled back to listen to the music played by a man with a stringed instrument that looked a bit like a lute, with its rounded back and short neck. They did their best to ignore the stares of the men in the room; Phryne’s beautiful face was unveiled, but Jack sensed no ill intent from their fellow diners, possibly because they were so obviously European. The restaurant appeared to cater to locals, and they were a curiosity, nothing more.

Immediately after the proprietor left them, a teenage boy with dark eyes and hair came over to their table carrying a colorful ceramic pitcher and a wide bowl. Folding down onto his knees, he set the pitcher and bowl down and handed each of them a thick cotton towel, miming for them to place it over their left shoulders. When they complied, he beamed and pushed the wide bowl toward them, placing his hands over it, palm up. Phryne smilingly mimicked his movement, and Jack followed her lead; the boy grinned—his teeth brightly white against the sun-darkened skin of his face—and lifted the ewer to pour warm water that smelled pleasingly of lemon over their hands. Understanding, Phryne rubbed her hands together to clean them, then held them out again for a rinse; Jack, slightly mystified, followed suit.

“We’ll be eating with our fingers, Jack,” she said quietly to him, “as the locals do.”

“Ah!” Jack’s smile was surprised, but he wasn’t worried. Traveling with Phryne had been one new experience after another, and almost all of them had been exceedingly pleasurable. He was certain this one would be the same.

When the ewer was empty, the boy rose to his feet, bowing respectfully and gesturing that they should dry their hands on the towels they held. He hurried off, passing the proprietor, who approached with a tray. The older man also knelt beside their table, the tray perfectly balanced on his palm. He set a basket holding thick chunks of dark bread between Phryne and Jack, then placed a bowl of what looked like a tomato-lentil soup in front of each of them. 

“ _Harira_ ,” he said, gesturing to the soup. 

Phryne lifted the bowl to her nose, and Jack watched as her eyes fluttered shut at the fragrance. He followed suit, and his stomach growled. Serious-faced, the proprietor lifted a piece of bread and made scooping motions over Jack’s bowl before passing him the bread. Jack dipped the bread into the soup, gathering some up before lifting it to his mouth. The flavors exploded on his tongue—tomato and spices, onion and cilantro, with soft lentils and chewy chickpeas making the texture perfect—and he made an involuntary noise of pleasure.

The proprietor grinned, exposing several gaps in his own very white teeth; he bowed his head and rose gracefully to his feet, taking his tray with him. Jack barely saw him go.

“My lord, Phryne,” he said, taking another scoop. “This puts the hotel’s food to shame.”

“Mmm,” she responded, her mouth full of her own lentil-covered bread.

For the next few minutes, speech was limited to murmurs of “so good” and “delicious” as they ate. The soup warmed their bellies pleasantly without filling them up, and when they’d wiped the bowls clean and eaten the last of their bread, Jack leaned back against the corner wall with a sigh.

“That was wonderful,” he said softly. “I wonder whether Mr. Butler could recreate it?”

“I would imagine he could,” Phryne responded, wiping her fingers on the cloth over her shoulder. “I will need to look for a recipe book.”

“The difficulty will be finding one in English or French, I’d imagine.” Jack tilted his head back, his belly feeling pleasantly full. “Perhaps the staff at the hotel can help us with that.” 

“Good idea.” Phryne leaned into his shoulder, not so close as to scandalize the people around them, but close enough that Jack could feel the sweet weight of her. He also felt the less innocent touch of her hand on his thigh, but he didn’t have any objection to that.

“How many courses do you think there will be?” He covered her hand with his own, his thumb rubbing over its back.

“Four, perhaps, or five?” Phryne shook her head. “I don’t know exactly, but I imagine it will be some time before we get back to our house.” She traced her fingers along the inner seam of his trousers.

“I’ve always enjoyed a slow build-up,” Jack murmured.

“So you do, Jack,” Phryne replied, laughter tracing her voice, “how long did we know each other before you made your first romantic overture?”

“More than a year,” he said with a small smile, “though I was trying well before that ill-advised attempt at the observatory.”

“Ill-advised?” Phryne’s tone was incredulous. “That attempt was charming.” She turned slightly to face him. “And how did you try before that?”

“I was wooing you with my intellect,” he said dryly. “I couldn’t be just another of your conquests.”

“You were never that, darling,” she said, her eyes telegraphing how much more to her he was.

Jack caught his breath, amazed all over again at the fact that this woman had chosen him to be her partner—in work and in life. He opened his mouth to say so, his throat thick with feeling, when the proprietor reappeared at their table with a tray holding a large pastry covered thickly in powdered sugar. Jack and Phryne sat up, eager to taste this next course.

“ _Bisteeya_ ,” the man said with a smile, setting the plate between them and gathering up their empty bowls. As Jack reached to touch it, the man held up his hands, palm out. “ _Alharu_ ,” he said, and blew on his fingers.

Jack opened his hand above the pastry, feeling the heat coming off of it. He nodded his understanding at the man, who bobbed a small bow before moving away.

“Hot, I take it,” Phryne said.

“Very,” Jack said, puzzling over how he could cool it down enough to eat it. The scent was making his mouth water. Finally, he braced himself and drove a finger into the top, allowing steam to escape; he hissed a breath of pain through is teeth, but made another several holes before sticking his finger into his mouth.

“Are you all right?” Phryne took his hand to examine his finger. It was reddened, but no more. 

“I’ll be fine,” Jack replied, and eyed the _bisteeya_. “But the flavor of that pie is divine. I hope it cools soon.”

Waiting only a few moments, Phryne reached to pull a piece off the edge, its crisp crust making satisfactory crackling sounds. The interior appeared to contain egg and some kind of poultry, plus almonds, and she made a pleased noise at the sight of it. Jack watched, his attention caught, as she bit into the confection. At the low moan she emitted, he felt his body tighten and his nostrils flare. She licked her fingers without shame, her eyes closing as she concentrated on the flavors.

Swallowing hard, Jack reached for his own piece. The combination of textures and flavors hit him like a freight train—savory and sweet, crunchy, soft, and crispy marrying into a perfect bite. Like Phryne, he sucked the remainders off his fingers and reached for more.

“I don’t know what’s in this,” Jack said as he broke off a second piece.

“I don’t care,” Phryne said, plucking the piece from his fingers and popping it into her mouth.

Jack grinned and broke another off for himself. Conversation flowed between them as they ate. Phryne had not moved away when the _bisteeya_ was served, and her leg pressed softly against Jack’s. She kept her left hand beneath the table as she ate, the way they’d learned indicated politeness in this part of the world, and when she leaned forward to capture another piece, she steadied herself with a hand on Jack’s thigh; each time she did, he felt a frisson of desire run through his body. 

Phryne ate her last bite of the _bisteeya_ when a third still remained, and she nudged the plate toward Jack with fingers coated in powdered sugar. Sitting back, her shoulder tucked behind his, she lifted them to her lips. Jack found himself distracted from the food by the sight of her cleaning her fingers; she held his eyes, her red-coated lips wrapping slowly and meaningfully around each fingertip. Jack shifted on his cushion, averting his eyes in the hopes that his slowly building erection might subside.

Jack finished the pie and leaned back beside her with a happy sigh. Phryne welcomed him by reaching for his thigh again, this time a little higher. Jack’s earlier arousal bloomed again at the touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“I have to admit, Jack,” she murmured close to his ear, her voice a velvety swipe against his neck, “I do find watching you eat with your fingers to be rather stimulating.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes, and he licked his lips. 

He wondered whether she remembered the afternoon they’d spent in the coat closet at Wardlow, eating cottage pie with their fingers as they waited for a jewel thief to take the bait she’d laid. He’d never forgotten the few bites she’d taken, or the way she’d smelled as they sat close together in that small space. She still wore the same perfume.

“I feel the same, Miss Fisher,” he replied, his voice pitched to reach her ears and no further. “The shape of your mouth as you clean your fingers is quite diverting.”

“Are you imagining my mouth somewhere else, Jack?” Her hand slid slightly higher on his thigh. “I do like the sound of that.”

“I will admit, my thoughts have strayed that way,” he admitted, smiling down at her, his hand settling over hers. Much as he was enjoying their banter and its effect on his body, if she moved her hand any higher, he might find himself in actual discomfort.

Phryne grinned slyly up at him, her eyes hooded, and he could tell that she was plotting. Thankfully, whatever her plan, it was probably geared toward his pleasure. He would have to decide just how to pleasure her in return.

The next course consisted of several cold salads, some of which were raw vegetables—one a mix of cucumber and tomato with mint and another that Jack found himself returning to over and over, grated carrots and raisins flavored with something sweet and floral. To balance the sweetness, a savory blend of cooked potatoes married well with a cooked carrot salad that left their tongues stinging with heat. They sipped the fresh-squeezed orange juice that they’d found to be ubiquitous in the country—Phryne did miss wine, but as the local religion frowned on alcoholic beverages, she’d resigned herself to going without it for the duration of this stop.

The evening wound on, with their next course consisting of a whole artichoke flavored with lemon and the dark olives that were scattered around the plate. Phryne showed Jack the way to eat the spiky leaves, dragging her teeth along the underside to get the soft meat; he found himself unable to look away.

“I will be unfit for public viewing before we’re done here, Phryne,” he murmured, and she smirked at him, her hand on his thigh squeezing lightly.

“I’ll be sure to assist you when you need relief, darling,” she replied before taking another leaf between her teeth.

Jack groaned quietly, shifting in his seat as his cock responded to the look in her eyes. In response, she moved her palm so that the side of her hand nudged the crease of his thigh.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, crossing his left hand over his lap to grasp her fingers. He couldn’t quite make himself pull her away, so he just held her still.

“ _Le petit mort_?” Her whisper brushed his ear, a soft trickle of desire adding to the already full pool in the pit of his belly.

He slanted her a look as the proprietor brought over another course. This one consisted of fragrant chunks of meat—lamb, he thought—heaped around a central pile of couscous. Jack could see blanched almonds and fat raisins drenched in a thick, clear sauce.

The man smiled broadly, revealing his missing teeth again, and said “ _Mrouzia_.” His hand gestures seemed to say that he hoped they enjoyed it. 

Jack, still holding Phryne’s hand, leaned forward to sniff the dish, and when the scent hit his nose, his eyes fluttered closed.

“What on earth…” he opened his eyes to look at Phryne. The lamb, for that is what it was, smelled of spices and honey, a completely unexpected combination. 

Phryne reached out, using her fingers to compress a piece of meat and a pinch of couscous into a compact mouthful before lifting it to Jack’s lips. He held her eyes and opened his mouth, allowing her to feed him. The lamb was tender and flavorful, the honey of the sauce coating his mouth with its mellow sweetness and carrying a mountain of savory spices with it. Jack appreciated every bit of it, but even more, he appreciated the feel of Phryne’s fingers against his tongue, and the small gasp she gave when he curled his tongue around their tips.

“Jack,” she whispered.

“Try this,” he murmured, reaching out to gather a bite for her the way she had for him. Lifting it, he tucked his fingers inside her mouth, withdrawing them with a shiver as she mimicked the action he’d taken with his tongue.

“Mmmm, delicious,” she replied, and he was positive that she wasn’t talking about the dinner. 

“Phryne…” Her name was a warning, and in response, she nudged her hand against his hardness. Jack caught his breath, but tugged her hand higher, hunching forward as she wrapped her hand around him, his trousers no impediment to her grasp.

“Jack,” she responded, her voice deep and low. “Save this for me, will you? I’ll be wanting it later.” She gave his cock a light squeeze, then trailed her fingers back down to the safer territory of his thigh.

“Right. Let’s hope that I’ll be able to walk back to our bungalow.” Jack reached out for a bite of lamb and almonds, doing his best to ignore Phryne’s gentling strokes from knee to thigh.

“You’ll find a way, darling,” she murmured, continuing to eat, though he could hear the laughter in her voice. “After all, the reward will be worth it.”

He didn’t respond, just attempted to regulate his breathing, focusing on the scents of food in the air mingling with her perfume. It took an effort of will, but by the time they’d finished the plate of lamb, he felt his erection begin to subside.

No sooner had Jack scooped up the last bit of couscous from the plate than the proprietor was there again to whisk their dirty dishes away. He was followed by the boy with the pitcher and basin, who again let them wash their hands in warm, lemon-scented water. When they were finished, the man stepped up before them with two tall glasses and an elaborate silver teapot. 

In what appeared to be a traditional ceremony, he crossed one leg over the other and set a tea glass on his knee, then set his hand on his hip and placed the other glass on his elbow. Balancing easily on one leg, he held the pot high over his head and filled both glasses without spilling a drop. Jack and Phryne smiled as he set the teapot on the table and lifted the glass on his knee; when he jerked his elbow to flip the glass standing on it, Phryne gasped aloud. With a grin, he caught the glass one-handed, still completely full, and set it in front of Phryne, placing the other in front of Jack. With a small bow, he moved away again, leaving them to their tea.

Lifting their glasses to sip the hot, honey-sweetened mint tea, Phryne and Jack nestled together in the corner behind their table, their shoulders touching, their left hands entwined. 

“Are you feeling… recovered, Jack?” Phryne eyed him over her tea as she took a sip, her red lips pressing a kiss to the glass’s edge.

“I am, for the moment,” he agreed quietly. “But I’ve been thinking about just how I plan to relapse.”

“Oh? Do tell, inspector,” she murmured, her eyes twinkling with humor and lust.

“Oh yes,” he said. “When we are safely behind the closed door of our bungalow, I plan to thoroughly ravish you.” His voice was matter-of-fact. 

“Do you? How delightful!” Phryne’s smile was sweet, her words truthful. “Will you give me details?”

Tilting his head, Jack regarded her for a moment, sipping his own tea. “No, I don’t think I will, Miss Fisher,” he finally said, tilting his head. “Though I will say that it will require your _full_ participation.”

“Have no fear, Jack,” she purred. “I have plans of my own.”

With a meaningful glance, he set down his tea and pulled out his wallet, carefully laying out enough money to more than cover their meal. Unfolding himself from beneath the low table, he stood, holding out his hand to Phryne, who took it to stand, her purse clutched in her other hand.

As they made their way out the door, the proprietor approached. “ _Ma al-salāmah_ ,” he said, smiling at them as he bid them goodbye.

Phryne lowered her eyes and bowed slightly and Jack returned the man’s smile and repeated the salutation. He loved that the Arabic greetings and goodbyes were essentially to bid each other peace. If more people thought that way, he’d find himself looking for new employment, and he absently wished that was the way the world worked.

Ducking through the short doorway out into the balmy night, Phryne and Jack walked quickly back to their rented bungalow, staying side by side but not touching. Jack could hear Phryne’s breaths, faster and more ragged than their pace would account for, and he felt a stab of pleasure that she was as close to going up in flames as he was. His mind kept replaying the image of her red lips wrapping around her fingers, and he knew that the control he’d managed over his erection was swiftly eroding.

As they walked, they spoke desultorily of the possibility of having the hotel assist them in sending a package home—the spices for Mr. Butler, silks for Dot to work with, and small gifts for the rest of their family and friends they’d purchased at the market weren’t large, but they would nonetheless render the airplane too heavy to make the flight. Though the conversation was real, it was mostly a way to pass the time, so it was with both a tightening of their bodies and a thrill of relief that they approached the door of their small house.

Jack unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting Phryne precede him through. As he stepped in behind her, he closed and locked the door before turning to where she stood in the hallway that led to their bedroom. With a low growl, he stepped toward her, looping one arm around her waist and sliding the other up into her hair to tilt her head for his kiss.

He heard the light thump of Phryne’s purse hitting the ground, and then her hands were on him, sliding beneath his jacket to grip at the muscles of his back while he ravished her mouth. 

Jack’s arousal, barely leashed, came roaring back to life, his cock hardening so fast it was almost painful. He stroked his hand down her neck to cover her breast, and Phryne moaned into his mouth. Lifting his head, he looked down at her, beautiful in her dishabille, her hair mussed by his fingers, her lipstick smudged by his mouth.

“Clothes. Off.” The words forced their way out of him, and he let her go, stepping backward to follow his own directive.

Within moments, they were both nude, and he admired the pearlescent sheen of Phryne’s skin in the soft moonlight that was the only illumination. He moved quickly then, scooping her up into his arms and striding purposefully down the hall. Never one to be passive, Phryne’s hands stroked up his chest to his hair, and her mouth opened, hot and wet, over his throat. Jack cursed softly, his steps faltering for a moment, but did not stop. He wanted her, so much that he could barely think.

In their bedroom, Jack laid her on the bed, stretching over her. His mouth found hers again, and her hands began their journey over his skin. Jack moved against her palms, loving the way she would pet him during sex. It should not have surprised him how tactile Phryne was when it came to physical loving, but it had, the first time. Now, he couldn’t imagine lovemaking without it.

Jack slid his arms beneath her shoulders, giving her the weight of his body and the hard length of his cock against the softness of her sex. Phryne gasped, her mouth open under his, and bent her knees to allow him full access to the wetness between her thighs. 

“Jack,” she mewled, “please…”

His hands cradling her head, Jack lifted his mouth from hers. “Oh no, Miss Fisher,” he said, rocking his hips against hers without entering her body. “You won’t be getting off that easy.”

Phryne laughed at his deliberate choice of words, and Jack followed them by sliding his fingers into her hair and pulling; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to guide her. Phryne followed the wordless instruction with a moan, arching her neck, and Jack’s mouth painted a path of heat down the arch of her throat. He could feel the wetness seeping from her body, and he gloried in it even as he knew that he’d make her wait a bit longer.

“Hands up, Phryne,” he murmured, his tongue flicking out to investigate the hollow of her throat. 

“Oh, but Jack…” Her fingernails bit gently into the skin of his back, and she moved her hips restlessly against him.

“No arguments,” he said, skimming his teeth along her collarbone. “You had a chance to touch me without interruption at the restaurant. Now it’s my turn.”

“If I’d known, I might have done a bit more,” she admitted breathlessly, but her hands slid away, reaching up over her head to clasp together, since there was no headboard to grasp. 

Jack rewarded her cheek with another soft tug at her hair before he slid farther down her body. Phryne moved beneath him, the wetness between her thighs lubricating the length of his cock as it slid away from her heat.

“If you’re unhappy with the consequences, I’m certain I could—” he lifted his head, his chin brushing gently along the swell of her breast, to meet her eyes as he spoke. He knew that she’d be able to feel the rough texture of his beard, and also that she enjoyed the texture against her sensitive skin. 

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice little more than a whisper. “I almost certainly deserve everything you’re going to do to me.”

Jack rewarded her by rubbing his jaw against the lower curve of her breast, holding her eyes and loving the way she took her lower lip between her teeth. He blew a soft breath across her already hardened nipple, then moved to use his tongue to wet the area just outside her aureole before exhaling over the damp skin a second time. Phryne gasped, her chest shuddering with the intake of breath.

Continuing to brush her skin with his chin, Jack turned his head to watch his hand come up to cover her other breast. The slight curve fit perfectly in his palm, and he squeezed lightly, then took that nipple between his finger and thumb as he covered the other with his mouth.

Phryne made a sound that sent a jolt of arousal to his already hard cock, and Jack suckled harder, cupping her nipple with his tongue. When her moans turned to curses, he lifted his head, enjoying the way her skin was reddened by the rough scratch of his beard, and the raspberry-ripe jut of her nipple. With a pinch to her other nipple, he made his way farther down her body, his other hand coming up to cover the breast he’d just left.

Nudging her knees open with his hips, Jack positioned himself between her thighs, wedging her wide with his shoulders. He pressed his face to her belly, his tongue slipping gently into her navel. Phryne writhed, her knees rising on either side of his chest as she offered herself up to him. Breathing deeply, Jack took the scent of her arousal into his lungs even as his mouth traced the soft skin above the crinkly black hair that covered her mound.

“Dammit, Jack, _please_ ,” Phryne snapped out. “If you don’t hurry up…”

“Is this build-up too slow, love?” He smiled against her, rubbing the rough skin of his jaw against her skin before opening his mouth against the juncture of her thigh. His hands slid down from her breasts as he positioned himself against her, his long fingers cupping her hipbones. 

“God,” he said, moving his face so that his forehead was cushioned on her mons, his breath gusting over the slick flesh that lay below. “You smell so good.”

“ _Jack,_ ” His name was a long, low plea that came from deep within her body. 

Hearing it, Jack broke—he wanted nothing more than to make this woman come, again and again, every day for the foreseeable future. Without any further teasing, he dipped his chin and licked her clit into his mouth. 

Her taste exploded across his tongue, a spicy sweetness that rivalled any of the dishes they’d enjoyed that night. Jack groaned, a sound of relief and pleasure and love that had Phryne shuddering against him, her own cry of release wild. She twisted against him, her thighs clenching hard against his shoulders and her stomach contracting as she came.

Jack pressed his mouth to her sex, feeling the pulses of the muscles that led inside her body. As she quieted, he began again, his tongue swirling around her sensitive bud, his eyes closing as he lost himself in the flavor of her.

With a sharp cry, Phryne buried her hands in his hair and _yanked_ , lifting his head from between her legs. Jack blinked as if coming into daylight from darkness, and met her bright blue eyes.

“Jack Robinson, if you don’t get up here and fuck me, I will not be responsible for the consequences,” his beloved growled. 

With a sheepish grin, he crawled back up her body to cover her mouth with his. Phryne dropped one hand from his hair to grasp his cock, and Jack’s stomach jumped—he gasped her name and she pulled him close, guiding him inside her body. Her mouth on his was avid, and though he usually had to ease her body into accepting his, this time she was so wet that he was buried in her to his root before he realized how easy his entrance was.

Phryne sighed as he came to rest within her, and her hand in his hair gentled. She breathed his name into his mouth, and he felt as if he’d never heard it before. His heart squeezed, but he managed to keep his head for one important question.

“Your device?” Even as he spoke, he began to move, withdrawing slowly and groaning low in his chest at the slick slide back into her body. 

“In place since this morning,” she said on a groan, and Jack’s spine loosened at the reply.

“Thank god,” he murmured, then kissed her again, his tongue pushing between her lips. Pushing up on his arms, he slewed his hips against her, wanting to push them both over the edge of climax with the power of his thrusts. But before he could reach that goal, Phryne was pushing against him.

“Phryne?” his confusion was evident, he was sure, and he raised his head to meet her bright, wicked eyes.

“Sit up, Jack,” she whispered. “I want to show you what I was thinking about during dinner.”

Bemused, Jack levered himself up, and Phryne caught at his biceps to pull herself up with him. 

“Cross your legs,” she whispered, “like you had them at the restaurant.” 

Wrapping his arms around her back to steady her, Jack maneuvered himself awkwardly into a sitting position without withdrawing; he crossed his legs, snuggling Phryne’s delectable bottom in the hollow between his hips and his ankles.

“I kept thinking,” she said, sliding her hands across his shoulders, one hand cupping the back of his neck as she rotated her hips against him, “what if I were to just slide into your lap?” Her voice was a breath in his ear, and Jack slid his hands up her back, holding her close. “I would have taken you inside me right there if I could have,” she whispered, and began to move.

Pulling back slightly, she rode him slowly. She pressed her forehead to his, their lips meeting and then parting time and again as she rose and fell upon his cock. Jack ran his hands over her body, cupping first one breast, then the other, sliding long fingers down to grasp the rounded globes of her bottom and dip beneath to touch the place where his cock spread her, then back up to hold the backs of her shoulders.

Phryne whimpered and kissed him, her tongue sliding sweetly into his mouth as she pulled him close. Jack still felt the coiling of desire in his belly, but it was gentler now, as if her release had also been his own, allowing him to breathe and let this slower, gentler loving take its time.

With a moan against her mouth, Jack slid a hand up into her hair and tugged her backward so that he could dip his head and cover her breast with his mouth. He deliberately chose the breast he hadn’t feasted on earlier, wanting to redden its skin to match the other. Phryne arched back, her hands outstretched on his shoulder and nape, her hips working against him. She was hot and wet and brilliant, the clasp of her body a heaven that he had never expected to be invited into but now never wanted to do without.

Phryne whimpered, and Jack lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, and he could see the lines of concentration between her eyebrows. She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth, and the rhythm of her thrusts was becoming erratic; on every second or third downthrust, she ground her hips against him, and Jack could tell that she was on the edge of orgasm.

Dipping his head to her breast again, he stroked a hand down her belly to slide over her clit. Pressing gently, he rotated his finger, and with a sharp cry, Phryne came. The muscular pulses against his cock brought his own climax roaring back to the forefront of his brain, and Jack pulled her close, his mouth open wide against her chest, his hand in her hair, as his body shuddered and jerked against hers.

Phryne wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bringing herself close again and dropping her mouth to his; Jack kissed her, his mouth open, while his body emptied into hers.

When their tremors quieted, their kisses calmed, becoming languid and sweet; Phryne stroked the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck, and Jack smoothed a hand up and down her spine.

“I love you,” Jack whispered. She knew it already—he’d said it before—but it made him happy to say it out loud, even if she never said it back. And she might not; that type of sentiment wasn’t her way, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to care. He loved her, and it was good that she knew it. She cared for him, and that was enough.

“Jack,” she replied, her lips brushing softly against his. She smiled as she kissed him, and Jack’s mouth stretched in a return smile. 

“What?” he said, sipping at her lower lip, enjoying the feeling of his still half-hard flesh within the wet heat of hers.

“Who ever would have thought that I’d be thoroughly ravished in Morocco by an upright police officer from Australia whose touch makes me happier than I have been in eons?” She kissed him again, stretching against him, her breasts soft against his chest except for the sharp points of her nipples.

“It does seem improbable, doesn’t it? A woman like you made happy by someone like me rather than a sheikh or a duke, as the dime novels would have us believe is proper.” Her words brought him a rush of pleasure, and his body responded to the slide of her skin against his own. He could feel himself hardening again, and he grasped her bottom to hold her near as he pushed deeper inside her.

“Mmm,” she replied, rotating her hips against his. “Love is funny that way.” Her lips touched his gently, and she spoke into his mouth. “It finds us the person who complements us, I think.”

Jack stilled for just a moment, his attention caught by the words. Incredulous, he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “Phryne?”

“Love me again, Jack,” she whispered, her eyes tender on his.

Jack absorbed the word, and the look on her face, his heart speeding up and a smile stretching his lips wide.

“It would be my absolute pleasure,” he breathed, and kissed her again before bearing her down into the rumpled sheets to show her how he loved her.

**Author's Note:**

> P&J’s menu in this fic was inspired by meals at a Moroccan restaurant in my city, Mataam Fez. Dinner there is an experience much like the one that Phryne and Jack had, though with the addition of a belly dancer to entertain. If you’re interested in the dishes they tasted, I found some recipes—I can’t vouch for these, though I sure plan to try them. :D
> 
>   * [Harira](http://www.panningtheglobe.com/2014/10/15/moroccan-lentil-soup-harira/) (lentil & chickpea soup)
>   * [Bisteeya](http://www.zencancook.com/2010/04/pastilla-bastilla-bisteeya-bstilla-bstilla-or-whatever-the-heck-you-want-to-call-it/) (chicken & almond pastry)
>   * [Tomato-cucumber salad with mint](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/tomato-cucumber-and-red-onion-salad-with-mint-101847)
>   * [Potato salad](https://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/Potato-Salad)
>   * [Spicy carrot salad](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/moroccan-raw-carrot-salad-231922)
>   * [Carrot salad with raisins and rosewater](https://ageneroustable.com/2010/04/13/moroccan-carrot-rosewater-salad/)
>   * [Mrouzia](https://www.thespruce.com/mrouzia-lamb-tagine-with-raisins-almonds-2394654) (lamb with honey & almonds)
>   * Artichoke with lemon and olives (Note: I couldn’t find a recipe like the one I had at our local restaurant, and that I fed to Phryne and Jack, but [this](http://www.mymoroccanfood.com/home/artichoke-tagine-with-peas-and-preserved-lemon-vegan) looks like it has a similar flavor profile)
> 



End file.
